


The Shape of Us in the World

by StaringAtTheTwinSuns



Series: Shape of Us ‘verse [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Aftereffects of Force lightning, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Blind Han Solo, Blindness, Cuddling, Disabled Character, Electrocution, Fluff and Angst, Force Ghosts, Force Lightning, Force-Sensitive Han Solo, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Training, Kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Physical Disability, Teaching, The Force, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaringAtTheTwinSuns/pseuds/StaringAtTheTwinSuns
Summary: Everyone says Han's vision will return, but they don't really know what they're talking about. No one's ever been frozen in carbonite before, and the more time passes the more he starts to think that these blurs of light and dark are as good as it's ever going to get.Luke's the only one who doesn't make him talk about it--he knows what it's like to be in a place that no one else can really understand. Every time they say goodbye, they come back different. Damaged. Changed. But the war's only worth it if, when it's all over, there's a life of some kind waiting for them.A fairly plotless, guilty pleasure, angsty/fluffy Skysolo fic in four installments, set during and after Return of the Jedi in a divergence from canon.





	1. Lights in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> So, someone suggested I write blind Han and I said no, but then an idea came to me. No regrets? XD
> 
> This fic begins with a slight canon divergence... the events of the Original Trilogy pretty much happened as in canon, except that Han and Luke were in the beginnings of a relationship on Hoth, and neither of them ever had a romantic relationship with Leia (no Leia bashing here!), and that Han's carbon-blindness doesn't go away on its own. (It then diverges from canon further, because why not?)
> 
> Tags were added as the story was posted, and not all tags apply to all chapters... all of them are here somewhere, though. :)
> 
> This story is now FINISHED as of March 25, 2008.

Everyone tells Han his vision will come back, and for awhile he genuinely believes them.  _ Hibernation sickness _ , they say, like that’s a thing that’s happened to people before him. A normal thing, that droids can predict and cure.

What they don’t tell him, what he has to figure out for himself between the awkward pauses in conversations, is that no one’s ever had this kind of hibernation sickness before. That maybe people have been in a suspended state of something, but that Han’s the only person who’s ever been frozen in carbonite. And so, as much as they like to talk, nobody really  _ knows _ .

He’s not completely blind. It’s easy to trick people, once he starts to recognize them when they come into the room. Chewie’s easy—he’s tall and dark, and usually announces himself with a roar. Lando’s bright clothes and capes make him easier too, and Leia he gets from her size and the way that she moves. He’s starting to know Luke, too, even though he’s different. His shape in the universe doesn’t seem the same—like he’s gotten bigger, or stronger, or older, or something, while Han’s just gone mostly blind.

Luke spends the most time here, though, and he’s the only one who doesn’t press Han to talk—about how he’s doing, how he’s feeling, how the droids say there’s nothing really wrong with his eyes. It’s his brain, apparently, not processing what it sees. Choosing not to, apparently. Like anyone’d choose this if they could.

Luke just sits here mostly, like he’s doing right now, a dark blur that used to shine like the sun. And he’s touching Han with the one gloved hand he also doesn’t talk about. They’ll talk about everything, Han thinks, in time.

“I’m leaving tonight,” Luke says. “I’ll be back. In a day or two.”

There’s a heaviness in the way he says it, and when he moves his hand from the breadth of Han’s back, Han reaches out for him like it’s instinct. Like he’s a life raft at sea, and Han knows he can’t afford to let go.

His hands don’t know where to go. He can’t make out the details, so he ends up kind of pawing at Luke’s chest. Shame swells into red heat on his face, but that same pride won’t let him back away. “C’mere, kid,” he mutters, and inches his way across the bed, until Luke is finally in his arms.

It’s not the first time they’ve done this. It’s not the first time they’ve done  _ something _ , anyway. But it’s starting to turn into a pattern. Every time Han starts to think that there might be something real there, Luke runs off to do some Jedi thing.

They’re calling him a Jedi now—Leia and Chewie and everybody. Han’s not really sure what the difference is. Luke feels cold, almost. Stiff, in Han’s embrace. And then he exhales, and it’s almost like he’s trembling. “You okay?” Han asks, and he knows it’s weird the blind pilot’s the one doing the asking. “Hey, Luke. You can talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, but his voice is quiet. Distant. He leans back, so his head rests on Han’s chest, below his collarbone. Han buries his face in Luke’s mess of blurry hair, and closes his worthless eyes.

“Anyone ever tell you how good you smell?”

Luke chuckles. It’s not a full laugh, not really. Not like back on Hoth, when they’d been… whatever they were. But it’s something, still, and Han will take it where he can get it. A little bit of light in the darkness.

Han laughs right back. “It’s true.”

“You do too.”

Luke reaches up to touch Han’s face, and Han can hear the quiet whirr of the servos in his hand. He’s not sure if anyone else can hear it, or if blindness really has heightened his other senses, like they say. There’s a strange sort of comfort to it, though—this private little sound that’s a testament to the room’s silence. To the trust that runs between them, deeper than blood in their veins.

“So,” Han says, his whisper shattering the silence. “You going to tell me where you’re off to this time, or what?”

He doesn’t need Luke to talk about Vader, or Bespin, just like Han doesn’t need to talk about the carbonite, or how much he still can't really see. He doesn’t need to know how a farmboy grows up so much, in less than a year. He doesn’t need to know what Luke’s seen, what’s made him like this. But he needs to know where he’ll be this time. He needs to have a spot on a star map, even if he can only see it in his head. He needs to know—how many hours. How many parsecs. He needs to know where Luke is in his world.

Luke doesn’t say anything, but he shifts his weight to one side, and the bed sinks a little further beneath them as he lies down, his head in Han’s lap.

Han opens his eyes, but it doesn’t do any good. The room’s a white blur, and Luke’s a darker spot, but the expression on his face just isn't there.

“You gotta tell me, kid.” He tries to keep his voice light, but the thought that he might never see Luke’s smile again makes it crack. “I can’t… I mean, if you’re laughing or crying, whatever.”

“I’m not,” Luke says. “I’m just… here.”

“Just here,” Han echoes. They’re all just here. He tries not to think about it too much, how Leia and Lando have been doing their best to make him feel like a part of what’s going on. How there’s a briefing, a couple days from now, about this new Death Star. How they’re talking about sending Lando up against it, cause the guys who took out the first are sidelined now.

He slides out from under Luke and lies down beside him, Luke’s back to his chest and his head coming up to Han’s chin. Han drapes an arm over Luke’s side and just lies there, feeling him breathing. Wondering if this is what the Force feels like—the beauty of another life, pressed against and entangled with his.

He does have questions.

He wonders why they’re not sending Luke against the Death Star. Han can’t actually see his new hand, but from what he knows by touch, there’s no difference that would keep him from the sky. He wonders why Luke doesn’t seem upset when they talk about sending Lando—or why he seems so devoid of any emotion at all.

He wonders what, if anything, Luke still feels for him. He wonders if they could be what they were. What they were about to be anyway, before the Empire stepped in and separated them.

And he wonders—maybe too late—just how much of those thoughts Luke can read.

Luke sighs, a deep, ragged breath that makes Han want to touch his cheek and feel for tears. He doesn’t, though. Luke’ll tell him, if anything needs to be told.

“Han, I have to go back.”

For a minute, Han thinks he means to Vader.

“I have to go back,” Luke repeats, “to Master Yoda.” And Han’s not sure, now that his heart’s started again, if he wants to laugh or cry.“I have to apologize,” Luke goes on, “and… there’s something I need to ask.”

His words seem to hang there, like pieces in the air, jagged with the things he isn’t saying.

But before Han can work up the courage to ask what they are, Luke’s turning around in his arms. And he’s so close Han should be able to see all the flecks of different blues in his eyes, and the fact that they’re just a dark blur against light makes something in him hollow out and burn.

“Han?” Luke whispers. “I know things have… changed a lot. Since Hoth.”

There’s a brush against his face, and Han starts, and grows red when he realizes it’s just Luke’s hand.

“Han, I… I want you to kiss me.”

He’s cupping his hand around Han’s face, and bringing him closer. Han can feel him, smell something minty on his breath, and he’s waiting, maybe, for Luke to close the gap between them.

“Han. I want  _ you _ to kiss  _ me. _ ”

It’s a question, maybe.  _ Do you want to go back? To try to get back to where we were? _ Han does. He doesn’t know if it’s possible now, but he wants it more than anything.

And he’s always known how to find Luke’s lips in the dark, so he closes his eyes and says  _ yes _ the only way he knows how.

Luke’s kiss is maybe the only thing that hasn’t changed. His lips are still soft, and hesitant, and searching for Han’s, even though he’s here. He’s here. He’s  _ here _ . He threads his fingers through Luke’s soft hair, and pulls him closer, closer, until he’s not sure where he ends and Luke begins.

And then he’s rocking, grinding with his hips against the muscle of Luke’s upper thigh. And Luke moans into his mouth, and Han moans wordlessly back, and for a moment, they are what they were.

“Do you want to…?” Han asks, his breath warm in the sliver of space between them. He can feel Luke, hard against him, and he knows that a part of him, at least, wants more.

But Luke’s muscles go tense, and he pulls back, somehow, even though Han’s arms are still around him, and he’s close enough for Han to feel him breathe.

“I do,” he whispers, but his voice is tight and strained. And then, like he knows there are things there that can’t be said in words, he takes Han’s hand and places it against his face, so he can try to see what’s written there.

Han knows every contour of Luke’s face, but he knows it with his eyes, and not his hands. His fingers find the scars left by that ice creature on Hoth, and he’s relieved, a little, that with all they’ve both been through, he doesn’t find any scars he doesn’t know. The tips of his fingers trace the line of Luke’s mouth, which turns down at the corners, creasing his face in faint lines.

“I want to,” he whispers, against Han’s fingers. “But I can’t. Not right now. It would… it would feel like a lie.”

Han shakes his head, glad, at least, that Luke can see him. He has no words to say how this, between them, sometimes seems like the only true thing in the world.

“There’s something I have to take care of first,” Luke says, and pulls Han closer. The electric charge of their first embrace has dulled, and in its place there’s a heavy, leaden comfort. “When it’s over. When I come back… then I want to give you everything. Wait for me. Please.”

The words are hot against Han’s neck, but something about them makes him shiver.

_ When I come back, _ Luke said. Not  _ If _ . And his Jedi master can’t pose any danger.

But every time Luke leaves, Han loses him again. He’ll come back changed, a little more of his light faded. Tempered. And Han will have no choice but to grope for him in the darkness. To find him and start from zero all over again.

(to be continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate all feedback, including concrit! :)


	2. A Walk in the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Luke does before he leaves for Endor is take Han for a walk in the stars.

The last thing Luke does before he leaves for Endor is take Han for a walk in the stars.

There’s an observation deck on the twenty-seventh floor of the Mon Calamari star cruiser. Luke’s got Threepio guarding one door, and Chewie stationed at the other, and everyone who’s anyone on the ship is aware that he wants to be alone to say goodbye.

He’s done everything else he needed to do. Leia knows now, for better or worse, about the lifelong burden they now share. Her eyes still haunt him, the way they kept on asking all these questions to which Luke still doesn't have the answers to give.

He took something from her, by telling her the truth. But he thinks—he hopes—he gave her something too. He still hasn’t decided if he’s going to tell Han. He’s got no connection to this, except maybe almost loving the son of Vader. And Luke’s not really sure if it comes from love or selflessness, but he doesn’t want to take that from Han, too.

He takes a deep breath, and punches in the door code. There’s no time to weigh his decision any more. It’s only a matter of hours, he knows, before they make the jump to hyperspace, to where his father waits for him on the Endor moon.

Han’s sitting on the bed, his legs not quite crossed, some kind of clunky headset over his ears. His eyes are closed, his face turned up, and in that moment he almost looks peaceful. If only it weren’t for the silent, snaking grief that Luke can feel streaming from him, branching out like creeping veins into the room.

“Han,” he says, but whatever he’s listening to has blocked out the world. “Hey, Han?”

Han jumps, when Luke touches his arm, and rips of the headset in panic. “Who is it? Chewie? Who’s there?”

And it wrings Luke’s heart to realize, even close enough to touch, Han can’t even tell who he is.

“It’s me,” he says. “It’s Luke.”

And Han’s reaching out, to touch him. “You scared me, kid. Scared me. Stupid audio dramas." He waves in the general direction of the headset. "Chewie's idea."

"It's a good idea," Luke says. It is. “But I’m sorry I startled you.” He takes Han’s hand. It’s shaking, a little, but he’s breathing slower, deeper, and Luke tries to project a little of the calm he doesn’t really feel. “We’re shipping out tomorrow,” he says. It’s an apology.  _ We’re shipping out tomorrow, without you. _

“Come to say goodbye,  huh?” Han’s tone is supposed to be joking. But under the surface, it’s threaded with cracks that maybe only Luke could ever hear.

“No.” Luke shakes his head, but Han’s right. He wants more than anything to save his father, to come back alive, to be everything that Han needs and wants him to be. But if the war has taught him anything, it’s that wanting a thing and actually believing it will happen aren’t anywhere close to the same. This is goodbye. It has to be. If Luke doesn’t come back, it’s the last Han will have of him. He has to make it, somehow, something good.

“I need to talk to you, Han. Not here.” He glances around the tiny, claustrophobic room. “There’s a place we can go and… and be alone. Walk with me?”

Han follows his lead, unfolding his legs and standing with a short, bitter laugh. “I don’t know, kid. Walking’s one of those things I’m not so good at anymore.”

“Come on.” Luke links his elbow with Han’s. “We’ll be together.” At least for tonight. At least for now. He doesn’t want to think about what might happen tomorrow. About what’ll happen to Han if the mission fails.

Han’s always been the type to keep his feelings under the surface, to wrap them up in pride and sarcasm, push them away. He’s hard to read, even with the Force, and Luke doesn’t want to dig too deeply. He doesn’t want to take anything from Han that Han’s not ready to share. So it scares him a little how strongly he feels the freefalling fear rolling off him, the minute they step through the door of his quarters and out into the rest of the world.

Chewie brought him to the briefing this morning, arm-in-arm like this, slipping in a little late and taking a seat at the back of the room. But other than that, Luke realizes, Han has hardly left this little room.

He slides his feet forward, never letting them leave the ground, and keeps the hand that’s not wrapped around Luke’s out in front of him, reaching for the wall. There are tools they could give him, things that would help, and Luke's suddenly a little angry that they haven’t. It isn't really conscious neglect. Everyone’s still expecting him to wake up one day, magically healed. But hope, Luke thinks, is a very dangerous thing.

“The floor here’s flat,” he says. “I mean, there are no steps or anything. If you go a little the right”—and he nudges Han gently in that direction—“you can follow the wall with your hand.” He’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but it’s something. And that seems better than nothing right now.

Luke half expects Han to pretend he doesn’t need to, but the act of touching the wall takes the edge off his fear. “Thanks,” he mutters, so softly even Luke can barely hear him, and his next step forward seems a little more sure.

Luke narrates the rest of their walk to the elevators, addressing the people they pass by name, or by rank if he doesn’t know them, so Han knows who and where and what the shapes around them are. It reminds him, somehow, of the exercises they made him do to help his body adjust to his new hand. Some had just been awkward. Others had hurt badly enough to bring burning tears to his eyes. But they’d worked. He hardly ever thinks about the prosthetic now, unless someone or something reminds him. It's just a part of him, and how things are.

And Han's strong, and someday, even if his eyesight doesn't return, Luke believes--not hopes; that's far too fragile--that he'll feel the same way about whatever he finds to help him find his way around the world.

“We’re getting off at the next floor,” Luke says, and when the elevator stops he slips his arm around Han’s waist, and leads him into an almost-deserted hallway.

“Master Luke!” Threepio calls from his post by the door, and Han looks up in more or less the right direction.

“Hey there, Threepio. How’s it going?”

“And Captain Solo! It’s so good to see you up and about again. I must express my deepest condolences on your continued infirmity. Artoo's analysis unfortunately indicates that the probability of a complete recovery is—“

“Thank you, Threepio.” Luke cuts him off. None of them need to think about those odds. “Is the observation deck empty?”

“Oh. Well, yes.”

“Good. Keep it that way until we’re back.”

The observation deck is technically open to anyone; the automatic doors sweep aside with a whoosh. Han’s grip on Luke’s arm tightens, and as they step into the airy, high-ceilinged space, Luke feels a little of his sleeping fear resurge.

“It feels… big,” Han says. He doesn’t make it sounds like a good thing.

Luke steers him forward. “There’s a little step down here. And the ceiling… the ceiling’s really high. There are these… pillar things, kind of curving up over us. And to our left, there’s this window, stretching over the whole wall, with this amazing view of the stars.”

The more he talks, the more Han’s panic fades—the more he’s able to tuck it away, anyway, underneath a false confidence bolstered up by what Luke doesn’t dare to call love. It's trust, maybe. Friendship. He doesn't have the strength to up the stakes by calling it anything more.

"Three steps down," he says, and they take them together, to the window, where the stars are shining like little pinpricks in the everlasting night. "You can see all the stars.” He keeps up the narrative, wishing somehow that words, and not flying, had been the gift the Force had given him. Wishing he had some way to convey what this feels like. The infinite possibilities the galaxy still--even after all it's done to him--makes him feel. "They're... shining," he says. "Like they don't even know there's a war. Like little white... silver... glowing..."

"Shut up, kid." Han elbows him in the side--an old, familiar gesture, and he's trying, Luke knows, to hide the sadness that creeps into his voice. "I know what the stars look like. That's the one thing that doesn't change."

"Yeah." They do change, though. It just takes thousands of years to see it. Leia's great-great grandchildren will be able to see Alderaan from a distance, but that doesn’t mean it’s really there.

"They've got you on the strike team," Han says. It's not a question. But Luke knows it also kind of is.

"Yeah," he says again, like a glitchy holoprojector. And that non-question makes his decision, for some reason he can't explain, and he knows he's going to tell Han everything.

He does. He tells him how he isn't planning to stay with the team, how he has to leave, has to give himself to Vader, has to face him. Has to see this—all of this—to the end.

"That's crazy," Han says. "Hey, if this is about revenge..."

"It's not." And there's enough gravity in his voice that Han stops, and waits for him to go on. "It's not about revenge," he says. "It's about family. It's about… my father.” Once thats, the rest feels easier. “He's my father. Vader's my father, Han."

Han drops his arm, and steps away, and for a minute Luke thinks he's going to try to run. He's shaking his head. "No. No. No. Don't say that, kid. That isn't true."

"It is. They told me. Ben, and Master Yoda. Vader had two children. Me... and Leia."

"No."

It's nothing at all like what Luke screamed, when Vader first told him on Bespin. Han's  _ No _ is quiet. Defeated. Resigned.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know." Luke takes a step closer, and Han steps back, like he can see him or sense him. He stumbles over the last of the steps, and half-sits, half-falls to the ledge.

"Han! Are you okay?”

Han shakes his. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Please.”

"Okay." And even though Luke's heart is crumbling to sand, he raises his hands in surrender. "I won't. Should I go get Chewie?" He should have known this would happen. No matter what he and Han have been through together, he's still the son of Vader, still tainted with the same twisted evil that robbed his best friend--who could maybe have been more, once upon a time--of even the pinpoints of the stars.

Han shakes his head. "No," he says. "I'm not... we're not done. Does—does Leia know?”

Luke nods, and his voice goes quiet and dark, like the look in Leia’s eyes. “I told her yesterday.”

“Yesterday.” He twists the word, like a knife in Luke's heart. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

"Han,” Luke pleas, “I swear, I didn't know."

He moves, then, to sit down next to Han, but he knows he has to say it, has to make sure Han knows what he’s doing. Has to give him a chance to run away.

"I'm going to sit beside you, now. Is that okay?"

Han says nothing, and Luke repeats: "Han. Is that okay? You can say no."

"Give me a minute," he mumbles like sobbing. "Yeah. Yeah, all right. It's okay."

But Luke's careful not to touch him, even though the low step is barely wide enough for the two of them side-by-side.

He tells him, then, how Vader told him on Bespin. How he felt the truth of it, even then, but couldn't bring himself to admit until Ben and Yoda had confirmed it. How he couldn't tell Han, not because he was Han, but because he couldn't even tell himself.

Han's quiet, for what feels like a very long time, each breath like an explosion in the silence. "You should have said something, kid," he says, at last, and he reaches up to give Luke’s shoulder a weak squeeze. "I don't know if I could've, you know... helped you, or anything. But I could've tried." He turns to face Luke, looks him right in the eye, through instinct or luck or intuition. "I could've tried."

"You're right," Luke admits, on this last night of the world. There are so many things he should have done. He should have told Han what he means to him, so many nights on Hoth before they were seperated. He should have told him about Vader. He should have made someone take care of him, teach him how to navigate the world whether his eyesight ever gets better or not, and Luke should have figured out how he could help, how he could be a part of that, too. He should have made sure that, even if he never goes back to the  _ Millennium Falcon _ , Han Solo knows he'll always have a home.

"I should have told you," Luke takes Han's other hand, and holds it to his chest, and Han, to his relief, doesn't pull away. "I should have let you help me, and I should have helped you... and I'm sorry, Han. This is all because of me.”

Han wraps his arms around him, and pulls Luke to his chest, cutting off the apology before the end.

"...do it again," he whispers. "I'd do it again, if it meant being here with you." He rests his chin on the top of Luke's head, like he's ready to fall asleep there. "Hey, kid?” he says, after a long pause. “Tell me again, about the stars.”

They go back to Luke's quarters, after that. The two of them, in a too-small military bunk, not doing anything that could wear either of them out; they're both going to need their strength in the days to come.

"Hey, Han?" Luke says around a yawn, when sleep's clouding both his eyes and Han's tired, stretched-thin presence in the Force. "You can stay here, if you want. Until I come back from the mission." His room's bigger than Han's, and if nothing else, at least it's not in the medical wing.

He sets his alarm for an hour earlier than he needs to to leave for the mission, and in the morning, when it goes off, he slams his hand down on the button before it has a chance to rouse Han from what feels like a strangely peaceful dream.

Luke doesn't want to kiss him, not without his permission, so instead he squeezes his hand under the blanket.

"I'll be back if I can," he whispers. "I wish I could promise you more."

And before he goes to the shuttle, he stops by the medical center, and talks to one of the droids. And when he leaves to face his father--to face the Emperor, face certain death--Luke has only one tiny comfort. That even if he never comes back, he has a guileless mechanical promise that someone will watch over Han.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm much less confident about this one than I was with the first part... partly because I've written "Luke tells Han about Vader" before, and was trying not to rehash old ground TOO much?
> 
> I welcome ALL feedback and would love to know what you think, be it a one-word comment, pointing out a typo, or whatever. :)


	3. The Wake of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke's back from the Death Star, somehow, but the Emperor's attack has left him scarred and weakened. Now it's up to Han to find a way to take care of him, and to help Luke find his way back to the world he saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags added for new characters and themes in this chapter!
> 
> A couple of disclaimers as well:
> 
> \- Droids, planet names, etc, are mine and mine alone. I gave up trying to navigate Wookieepedia because I'm really just an OT fan with a basic understanding of the other five movies. EU/Legends are beyond me, and if I happen to have picked a name that exists there... it's happened before, it's unintentional and I apologize!
> 
> \- I vaguely remember that the aftereffects of Force lightning were addressed in the EU but I don't really remember the specifics after 20 years. I don't have any idea if this matches or not, and either way, it's purely coincidence.
> 
> \- On a related note, I did very little Googling for any of the medical stuff in this fic... which means I did a LITTLE research, but basically decided that Force lightning and carbonite and bacta aren't real things anyway, so I could use them as I like. Please don't take any of it as remotely factual. ;)

Han doesn't actually mind the little guide droid someone digs up to lead him around. It's small, and quiet, unless he needs it to talk, and doesn't have much in the way of personality. And when the Death Star opens fire on the fleet, it narrates the whole thing in this flat, no-nonsense voice. Misplaced optimism is, apparently, not in LC-42B’s programming.

So he knows right away the  _ Falcon _ ’s lost her sensor dish, which aches a little, like a distant throb. And he knows, too many times, through the longest day of his life, that Luke’s not there, in this holo or that one. That all anyone knows is that Leia says she felt him. And that ought to be enough, but it's not.

And then he knows too soon, when shuttles start coming back with the critically wounded from the battle, that the first stretcher off bears a young man dressed in black, with sandy hair, one glove, and a lightsaber.

“That’s him.” Han's voice breaks, and he tries to follow Luke, but there are too many people, too many shapeless forms. “Elcee.” He holds out his hand, and the little droid flies up under it. “Take me to him. The man with the lightsaber. That’s Luke. That’s my… that’s Luke. We’ve got to go.”

He wants to run. He wants to fly or teleport or something. But Elcee makes him walk, one impatient step at a time, all the way to the medical wing. “The indicators were mostly green,” she says, in her flat little droid voice. “There is no need to hurry.” But all Han hears is the “mostly.” He pushes her forward as fast as she'll go

The emergency ward is a rush of lights and colors, too much, running together in Han’s sight. “Hey,” he calls, to the first shadow that passes, and it answers in a language he doesn’t know.

“Captain Solo!”

Han looks up in the direction of the voice, which he knows, but can’t immediately place.

“General Madine,” Elcee offers. “A little further to your right.”

Han corrects his gaze, and fixes a grim, thin-lipped smile on the blur that looks the most like the general. “General,” he says. “I heard they brought Commander Skywalker in.” He can’t quite keep his voice from shaking.

“That’s right. They’re taking him to a bacta tank now.”

“Han!”

“Leia?” He misjudges her distance too, though, and her hug nearly knocks him from his feet.

“You’re here,” she says, like she’s trying to make herself believe it. “Han… it’s Luke. I don’t know what happened. He was fine. We thought he was fine.”

“Where is he?” Han asks. “I want to see him.”

“We’ll call you when he’s ready for visitors.” There’s a sternness to the general’s voice Han doesn’t expect, and the seed of fear Elcee already planted with that “mostly green” remark sprouts twisting, sickening roots into his stomach.

* * *

 

The bacta tank’s a blue-white blur, but Han’s mind can fill in the details. He’s been here before—well, not  _ here _ , but on Hoth. Another touch-and-go day full of mostly green indicators and status reports from droids that don't say a damn thing. “Hey, kid.” He tries to keep his voice light. “Come on, Luke. I know you can hear me.”

“He is unconscious,” Elcee corrects him. “His eyes are closed.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Han asks, and Leia and Elcee answer him at the same time.

“He seemed fine, at first,” Leia says. “Tired, but everyone was.”

“Most of his body is marked with fine red lines, like burns in the shape of lightning.”

“We were staying with these forest creatures. He fell asleep,in a hut with Wedge and some of the pilots from their old squadron.”

"His right hand appears to be a cybernetic replacement. It was damaged, and has been patched with temporary synthskin to prevent the bacta from damaging the circuits."

"That was from Tatooine, not the Death Star," Leia counters, but the damage is news to Han, all the same. "Wedge woke up in the middle of the night. He thought Luke was having a nightmare--"

“The monitors indicate brain activity, and his heart is beating on its own now. A medical droid would be able to tell you more.”

Han catches the  _ now _ in Elcee’s answer, but he’s not sure he’s got the strength to hear the  _ then _ . “Okay.” But it’s not okay. Han knows it’s not okay now, and he doesn’t know if it ever will be again.

The bacta tank is cool to his touch, hard and white where Luke’s softness should be. Leia’s hand rests on his back—like she, too, thinks she can help Luke somehow, send some of her life through Han, through the tank, through the bacta, to him.

“Wedge thinks it was some kind of seizure,” she says. “They managed to keep him from choking, but…”

“It’s okay, kid." Han's done with listening. "You’re going to be okay, now.” He rests his face against the tank, and tries and fails to hold back frightened tears. “He’s going to be okay, right?” he asks Leia. Elcee. Anyone.

“I don’t know, Han,” Leia whispers. “I wish I did.”

* * *

Luke’s out of the bacta, somehow, a day later, and they move him to a room of his own. No one really tells Han he’s allowed to just stay there, but they don’t tell him to leave, so he does. Leia brings him food, and Chewie and Lando come to see him, and through it all, he keeps talking to Luke, about everything and nothing at all.

He hears things, too. He hears how Luke came back from the Death Star, dragging Vader’s body. How he burned it. He hears Luke killed Vader. He hears the Emperor killed Vader. He hears Luke threw the Emperor down a bottomless hole.

“You gotta wake up, kid,” he whispers to Luke. “Otherwise, they’ll turn you into some kind of legend.”

“Don’t expect too much,” Leia warns, when the droids decide at last to end the coma. “They don’t know if there’ll be any lasting damage. He might not…” Her voice catches. “No one knows.”

They’re saying he was probably electrocuted, somehow. And that at least if a person survives the actual shock, the outlook is usually good. But no one knows how he could have been shocked on the Death Star, and only feel the effects hours later. Luke’s symptoms are different from anything the med droids have really seen before.

“Welcome to the club,” Han mutters, and holds out his hand for Elcee. “Take me to him. As close as we can get. And tell me everything I need to know.”

Han kneels by the bed and takes Luke’s hand between his own. It’s his flesh-and-blood hand, but it’s icy, and Luke’s shallow, rough breathing seems like the only sound in the room.

“The surgical droid has stopped the medication that was keeping him unconscious,” Elcee reports.

“That’s good, right?” Han asks, but no one answers. They're not ignoring him; they just don't know.

It’s another long wait, but Han’s good at that now, reading too much into every twitch and quiver. He tries to quiet Luke’s hand, holds it still against his cheek. And Luke moans, and Han says, “It’s just me.”

“His eyes are beginning to open,” says Elcee.

Leia lets out a breath, or a sob.

And then, somehow, Luke’s hand finally seems to warm, and curls around Han’s in what’s too weak to call a grip—but it’s there. It’s intentional. It's conscious.

“He’s awake,” Leia whispers.

He’s here.

“Leia,” Luke’s voice sounds brittle and parched, like he’s been without water in the desert. But he’s awake, and he knows Leia, and then, like a dream, he whispers, “Han. You’re here. Who’s the droid?”

“Hey, kid.” A tear slides down Han’s cheek and onto Luke’s hand, more a drop of joy and relief than of anything. Luke’s awake, and he’s talking, and he can see Elcee, and at least that means, whatever else he is, he isn't blind.

“That’s, uh, LC-42B,” Han says. “I call her Elcee. She keeps me from walking into walls and shit. You know.”

“That’s good,” Luke says, in a voice that still sounds tired. But Han can hear the hint of a smile.

“Yeah, it’s good." Han smiles right back. "I’m doing real good. Thanks to you.”

There’s a flutter of movement—Leia, to his right. “How about you, Luke? How are you feeling? Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t know.” He sounds far-away. Distant. “It feels like I shouldn’t be here at all.”

Han shakes his head, and his own heart aches likes it’s the one that’s been stopped and restarted. “No. No, no. Don’t say that. Don’t think it.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Luke says. “I just feel… transparent. I can feel you touching me, Han. And I can see you, but the world’s like… like it’s spinning. It won’t stand still. And the air feels heavy… like I can’t really breathe. I don’t think… I don’t think can move.”

“Hey. Don’t say that.” Han cringes at the false cheer in his voice. “You’ll be okay. It’s just... it's just going to take some time.”

Luke’s hand twitches, and Han brushes his lips against it, not sure if he’s crying for joy that Luke’s back, or out of fear that he’s lying to himself, and to everyone else, and that neither of them will be okay ever again.

* * *

 

There’s good news and bad news.

There are holes in Luke’s memory; the party on Endor, falling asleep in the hut. But he does remember what happened on the Death Star. He doesn’t seem to have any brain damage, unless you count the couple of hours of memory loss. The droids tell Han it’s too early to be sure, but he can hear it in Luke’s voice. He’s still Luke.

All the strength seems to have gone out of him, though. His body won’t respond to commands. His heart’s still too weak for the droids to let him get up, and so he stays in the hospital bed.

They need to take him somewhere better. More permanent. Somewhere where someone must be able to figure out what’s wrong. But it’s hard to tell, in the midst of the fall of the Empire, exactly where Luke Skywalker would be welcome. And as much as Han wants the fleet to drop everything to restore the light in his life to its brightest, a part of him does understand that Luke’s not dying, and on the still-contested Core worlds where the remnants of the Empire are strongest, plenty of Alliance sympathizers still are.

So Han moves again, dragging their stuff in a battered shipping carton, while Elcee drags him, step by step, back and forth along the length of the ship. It doesn’t matters which room they use, or even where the ship is in the galaxy. His little place in the world is here, next to Luke in another too-small bed, with a sleepy, warm head on his shoulder.

“You could’ve asked for help,” Lando says when he sees what Han suspects is the extremely messy state of their room. But he doesn’t sound angry, or even really worried. More like just resigned. A little sad.

Han just smiles and reaches over to pat Elcee, who’s charging on the table next to the bed. “I had help. And besides, I’ve got to be able to take care of him.” He keeps his voice low, not really sure if Luke’s asleep, but wanting to keep him that way if he is.

“I understand that.” Lando follows his lead, dropping his voice to nearly a whisper. “Han? I came to ask a favor. They asked Chewie and me to lead a clean-up attack. Last remnants of an Imperial fleet still holding out around the Chirano system.”

Han knows what he wants before he gets a chance to ask it. “Let me guess. You want to take the Falcon?”

“The repairs are complete. She’s the fastest ship we’ve got. And… I know it would mean a lot to Chewie. He doesn’t like you staying behind any more than you do, and—“

“Yeah,” Han says. “Go ahead. Take it.” He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt to admit it, but he doesn’t think he’ll be back in the pilot’s seat anytime soon. And if his ship can help build some kind of peace for Luke to come home to… “Do whatever you’ve got to do. Hey, Lando?” he adds, almost an afterthought.

“Yeah, old buddy?”

“When you’re out there, do me a favor. Keep an eye and an ear out for someplace… you know, where me and Luke can go when this is over?” He lowers his voice further, too aware of Luke’s weight against his body, of the ragged breaths and uneven pulse that too often seem about to flicker away. “Being here is… I don’t know. I don’t really think it’s helping him. Sometimes it seems like… it’s not just his body. His whole spirit’s just slipping away.”

Lando’s quiet. Han can’t tell if he’s nodding or something, or just trying to think of what to say. Finally, he claps Han on the shoulder—just like old times, except Han doesn’t see it coming and it still makes him flinch, being touched like that out of the blue.

“I’ll do what I can,” Lando says. “And I’ll ask Chewie and Leia if they’ve got any ideas. You and Luke have more than each other, Han. Don’t forget that. Half the galaxy’s pulling for you two.”

“Thanks, Lando.” It’s probably true, but it's easy for Han to forget it. “Take care of yourself. And Chewie. And try to keep my ship in one piece this time.”

As soon as the door shuts behind Lando, Luke curls up against Han’s side. It feels reflexive, at first, like an infant in an fetal position. But then he reaches up, wraps one arm across Han's chest, and whispers, "I'm sorry, Han."

There's something about the way he says it that makes a lump rise in Han's throat, and he reaches up to tousle Luke's hair. It's sticking up all over the place, unwashed and sticky with sweat, and Han tells himself to make sure he gets a bath, or at least a chemical shower. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Not like you did this to yourself." 

"I know," Luke says, but he doesn’t sound so sure. "I'm not just sleeping all the time, you know."

Han's not really sure what he means by that. He  _ should _ be sleeping. Trying to get some of his strength back. Luke twitches again, like a current's just run through his body, and Han pulls him closer, holds him as tight as he dares.

"I've been meditating," Luke goes on. "Trying to remember. I told Leia something, that happened on Endor. But the memory's gone."

"It's okay, kid." Han tries to sound convincing. "No one expects you to remember everything."

"This is different, Han. This is important."

Luke says it with more force than he's said anything since the Death Star, and Han sits up a little straighter. "Okay. I'm listening. Go on.”

Luke lets out a shaky breath, and for a second Han thinks he's having another one of his episodes. But whatever it is passes, and he finds the strength to push himself up, and sit on the bed next to Han.

"I told her I saw my father," he says, then corrects himself. "Our father."

"Vader?" Han asks. "I thought he died."

"No. I mean, he did. He died, like I told you, to save me. But I told her I saw him after that, the way I saw Ben, back on Hoth. Through the Force. He came to me. And now… it's just gone."

Han's not sure what to say to that. He more or less believes Luke, that he's seen old man Kenobi, somehow, since he died. But it's hard to feel loss over something he's never experienced, that he's maybe only ninety percent sure is even real.

"And I've been thinking," Luke says. "About the Force. I've been trying to use it, to heal myself. I think it's working, a little." He rests his hand on Han’s arm. It is stronger, he thinks, than the weak little movements he was making when they first brought him out of the bacta. "But there's still so far to go, and Han... I didn't tell you this before, because I didn't know if I'd be able to come back to try it. But I think the Force could maybe help you, too."

"You're not making a lot of sense, kid." Han tries to laugh. But it feels too dangerous. Too much hope, when neither of them have a lot to go around. “I’m not a Jedi.”

“But the Force isn’t just for the Jedi. It flows through everything. Every _ one _ . I asked Ben”—Luke’s voice goes soft again—“on Dagobah. And he thinks you can learn. Maybe not enough to lift things or to use it fight or anything. But to sense things, to read people. It's not quite like seeing, but it could maybe fill in for your eyes.”

Han’s not sure what to say to that. It sounds too good to be true. “Don’t worry about me,” he mumbles. “I’ve got Elcee. I’ve got you. I’ll be fine.”

"I'm sorry." Luke says it again, and he curls up again, against Han's shoulder. "I need to be stronger. To talk to my father again. And to Ben, and to Yoda. I need to be able to teach Leia. And you. To keep the Force, and the Jedi, alive somehow."

He's working himself into a panic, Han thinks, and he takes Luke back in his arms. "Hey," he says. "Don't beat yourself up. You're getting stronger every day. You'll be all right." He's not at all sure he believes it, but it's the only thing he really has to hold on to. "Hey, Luke? There's something I should have told you a long time ago."

He wasn't planning to say it. Not here. Not like this. Not with Elcee charging beside them and some medical droid in monitoring mode on the far side of the room. But if the past year has taught them anything, it's that time is never unlimited. That life, and love, and the ability to express that love to the people who need it, are precious commodities that sometimes seem limitless, but might run out at any time.

He's trying to find the words when Luke interrupts him.

"There's something I need to tell you, too."

Luke trails his hand up Han’s arm, to his shoulder, to his neck, his cheek and chin. And then he takes Han's hand, and puts it in the same position on his own face.

"So you can see me," he says, and Han can feel him start to smile. "When I say I love you, too."

Han's never sure who kisses who--whether he finds Luke, somehow, or whether Luke finds the strength to come to him. All he knows is that they're together, that they're one--or as close as they'll get, anyway, in the Force or the universe or whatever the hell you want to call it. That they're here. Today. Whether or not they have a tomorrow. That no matter how broken they are, they make each other whole.

"You never let me say it," Han protests, his lips still touching Luke's.

"You don't have to," Luke says. "I can tell."

"Yeah, I do." And he pulls Luke close, trying not to wince at the lightning-shaped scars or the intermittent twitching of his muscles. Trying to will his heart, somehow, to beat with all the force that it should. "I love you, Luke. And it doesn't matter to me who your parents are, or whether you're a Jedi or a pilot or whatever, or whether or not we ever leave this bed again. I love you. And if I have to carry you to the end of the galaxy and back, I will." He lets a sad smile twist the corner of his mouth. "As long as you're there to tell me where the stars are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! I'm starting to feel bad about all the abuse I'm putting these boys through, but it's all for the sake of love in the end. <3
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all feedback including concrit!


	4. Our Place in the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the battle of Endor, Luke and Han have made their own home in the stars. All that's left is to make their relationship official... but even the most carefully planned proposals don't always go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are... the last chapter (for now)! Tags have been updated to reflect new contents. :)

Luke has good days and bad days. Today’s somewhere in between. He can walk on his own, but he’s glad for the handrails.

He’s glad for this whole place, really: Lando’s new pet project. Not as profitable as Cloud City, he pretends to complain, every time he joins Luke and Han for dinner. But Luke knows he’s as proud as anyone is of what they’ve built here together: a place for veterans, and war orphans, and anyone who needs it, to come and learn the Force, to heal and grow.

Luke’s not sure what Ben and Yoda would think, if they saw what he was doing with their teachings. He hasn’t spoken to them since he apparently saw them on Endor, and his memory of that night still hasn’t returned. Most of his students will never be Jedi, at least not in the way Yoda had probably imagined. But they’ll do good things, Luke hopes, and the Force does good things for them. They’re small things, mostly, but small things are important. He hopes his old teachers see that, too.

Small things. Luke smiles a faint smile, and brushes his fingers against the small things in his pocket. It’s just a formality, really. The idea of engagement. Of marriage. The words don’t really matter.

But he’s nervous, all the same.

* * *

 

He’s distracted, all through his first lesson, dropping the blocks he’s supposed to be teaching the others to lift, and almost toppling over when he tries to unfold his tingling legs from their knotted position on the floor.

“You all right, sir?” One of his students, a young pilot named Meren who saw his first combat on Hoth, offers him a hand.

“I’m fine,” Luke says, but his heart seems to flutter, and it takes the mechanical regulator in his chest a second or two to catch up.

“It’s okay to be nervous, sir,” Meren offers. “It’s been awhile since you’ve seen her, right?” Luke must look as confused as he feels, because Meren says, “Your sister? For what it’s worth, I think she’ll be real proud. We’ve really made this place into a home.”

“Thanks.” Luke smiles. It’s true. And he does think Leia will be proud to see it. To see what he and Han, and Chewie, and everyone else here has done. But he is a little nervous, too. It’s been a year, after all. And he still feels so weak sometimes—in the Force, as well as in his body. It’s like the updrafts he used to ride in his X-wing pass right through him. Like he reaches for things, only to have his fingers slip through them like those of a ghost.

He stays in the classroom until everyone has left, and then he flicks on his comlink. “Hey, Artoo? Can you cancel the rest of my classes today?”

Artoo squeals a panicked question in reply.

"I'm fine," Luke says. "Artoo, I'm  _ fine _ . It's just, we're having visitors tonight, and we're not ready. And I thought I'd stop by first and check on Han."

Luke reaches out, brushes up against Han's presence, and Han brushes back—like a soft, unspoken  _ Hey, kid. _ He’s still with Chewie, teaching classes of his own. Not in the Force—he’ll do that someday, maybe, once he’s learned to use it a little more himself. But he and Chewie make a pretty good team, teaching the kids in their community math and history and Shyriiwook, and being almost like substitute dads for the ones who don’t have parents of their own.

"Oh, and Artoo? Can you get me a chamber this afternoon? Yeah," he answers. "Any time before Leia and Lando get here. There's just... there's one more thing I need to do."

* * *

 

"Okay, okay!" Han shouts over a room of screaming children. "So, this one. What's this system?"

"Kashyyyk!" The kids all cry, and Chewie roars.

"Okay, right. That's one's easy." Han runs his hands across the interactive star chart, tracing the hyperspace routes from Kashyyyk to the next star system over. "Okay, now this one. Careful now, it's a trick question."

Trick question or not, a dozen hands shoot up into the air.

"Hold on a second," Han says. "We've got a visitor. Hey, Luke."

"Hey, guys." Luke smiles at the class. "What are you learning today?"

"Planets!" says a freckled girl with blonde pigtails.

"That sounds fun. Mind if I sit in?" Luke tells himself he doesn't really need the cane he grabbed from their apartment on his way here, but it helps steady the room, which spins a little as he lets go of the handrail in the hallway, and if nothing else it tells the kids not to run up and tackle him. It’s not really a bad day, but it’s not that good.

"Captain Luke doesn't need to learn about the planets," a wide-eyed boy says. "He's been to every planet in the galaxy."

"That's not quite true." Luke uses the Force to pull a chair across the room, and smiles at the nickname. Someone--some adult--called Han "Captain Solo" on his first day of class, and even though he told the kids to call him "Han," the "Captain" part was never quite forgotten. In this room, they're all captains--Captain Han, and Captain Chewie. And even though he's been grounded from flying for a year now, Luke's still Captain Luke to these kids. Galactic traveler.

"Hey," Han mutters in his ear, and his hand finds Luke's shoulder. "Everything okay?"

Luke smiles, at Han’s comfort in the world, at the way he’s learned to use the Force to “see” it. They've all improved so much--except maybe the so-called Jedi. "Yeah," Luke says. "I'm fine. I'm not in the way or anything, am I?"

"No, of course not. You've just..."

Twenty sets of eyes look up at them.

"You've been kind of quiet lately, that's all," Han says. "We'll talk about it after class, okay?"

Luke joins in the class, telling the kids about all the planets he's actually been to, which in the grand scheme of Han's star chart doesn’t really seem like a lot. And the list probably won’t get much longer. He's banned from flying solo, because of the seizures, and on strictly limited hyperspace travel, because of his heart. Han can go wherever he wants, as long as someone else is piloting. But Luke can't even do that for him anymore.

"Hey, Captain Luke!"

A brown-skinned, gap-toothed boy is pulling on the leg of his pants, and Luke gets the feeling he's spaced out again. He does that sometimes. Forgets where he put things. Gets lost in a random thought that goes on too long.

His hand strays  to his pocket again, and he wonders—not for the first time—if he has any business making a promise to Han, when he can’t even take care of himself.

"Sorry.” He forces a smile. “Can you repeat that?"

“I  _ said _ , what’s your favorite planet? Out of all the ones you’ve been to.” And the look in his eyes says that Luke’s “not so many” seems like a pretty big number to him.

“Well…” Luke gives it about a second of thought, and then folds his hands over the top of the cane and leans forward, like he’s about to tell them a secret.  “I am going to give you”—he glances up at Han and Chewie—“a very, very,  _ very _ boring answer. Han?”

“Yes, Captain?” Han answers with a smile.

“I need you to take hyperspace route 7240 to Corellia. Then swing wide around the nebula at Zarrus, and… yeah, that’s right.” Han knows where he means. And as his fingers trace the sensory map, on their way to Luke’s favorite planet, five and ten and twenty hands start to shoot up into the air.

“Me!” The kids shout, “Me! Me!” It’s another reason they all love Han’s class. All the other teachers tell them to be quiet. In this room, they have to be heard.

“How about you?” Luke nods to the boy who asked the question. “What system is that?”

“It’s Chirano.” He scowls at the answer. “Your favorite planet’s  _ here _ ?”

Luke laughs, and Chewie follows, and Han collapses the map into its projector with an exasperated shake of his head.

“I told you it was a boring answer,” Luke says. “But it’s true. This is my favorite planet. And I know for a fact that none of you will understand until you’re older. But no matter how much fun it is to travel the galaxy, it’s even nicer to have a place to call home.”

Han rolls his eyes, and holds out his hand for his guide droid. “And on that particularly sappy note, it’s almost time for lunch.” He opens the classroom door, and the kids come running. “Me and Chewie’ll be there in a minute. The cafeteria, not outside!”

“You sound so responsible,” Luke says, when the last of the kids is out of earshot.

Han laughs. “Yeah, that’s me. Don’t sound so surprised. Hey.” The room spins again, just a little, as Luke joins him by the classroom door, and Han wraps an arm around him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Luke shakes his head. “A little dizzy. I’m okay, though.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to learn to read emotions.” Han frowns. “You're worried about something. You don’t really think Lando’s not going to renew our funding or anything, do you?”

It’s such a ridiculous thought that Luke almost laughs. But Han’s serious. He really is worried that, maybe not Lando specifically, but someone in the new Republic might decide—if not now, someday—their school isn’t worth the money it takes to run.

“Anyone who saw one of your classes would want to give you more funding, not cut it.” Luke kisses Han on the cheek, and it’s enough to make a little of his worry dissipate. “Besides, tonight’s more like a social call.”

“Yeah, all right.” Han gives him a sheepish smile. “You want to come to lunch with us? I bet the kids have a million more questions about your adventures.”

Luke laughs. “I bet they do. I’ll come with you another day. I promise. Artoo’s got me a meditation chamber this afternoon.”

“Suit yourself.” Han gives him a slow, careful nod, and Luke resists the urge to slam up his mental shields. “I’m gonna trust you,” Han says, in a tone that says he doesn’t, not completely. “But you better not be lying when you say you’re okay.”

* * *

 

The meditation chambers were one of Leia’s ideas, based on blueprints recovered after Endor for Vader’s Super Star Destroyer. No one here is as badly injured as Anakin Skywalker was. But they all have their own issues, visible or otherwise, and the chambers are adjustable in a hundred different ways, in an attempt to give everyone peace, regardless of what the war took from them.

Luke lowers the gravity, dims the lights, and puts on just enough white noise to drown out his own heartbeat in his ears. He sets the temperature to just warm enough that it doesn’t feel like anything, and since sitting on the floor didn’t go so well earlier, settles into a cushioned chair in the middle of the room. It still doesn’t really feel like it did on Dagobah, with nothing but the raw power of the Force flowing around him, but at least on this planet, at least since Endor, this particular combination is the best he’s been able to get.

He closes his eyes and tries to reach out—not to Han or to Chewie, but further. Into the planet. Out into space. He tries to feel the rhythm of the universe around him.

He doesn’t quite fail.

The Force is still there, still around him, still strongly enough with Luke that he can lift things and sense obstacles, and sometimes get a flash of the future before it comes. But he’s keeping it at arm’s length. He’s holding back, and Luke doesn’t really understand how or why. The whole point of everything he’s trying to teach here is that the Force can help, can help anyone overcome what’s hurt them.

But none of the other people here have been hurt by the Force itself.

“Ben?” He knows before he says it that he’s not in deep enough to get the answer he’s looking for. “Master Yoda?” And the impossible: “Father?”

He’s not even surprised, anymore, when only the silence answers. Just frustrated, maybe, not to know if they’re gone—or of they’re there, on the other side of some barrier Luke constructed. Trying, maybe, in vain, to reach him, too.

* * *

 

It’s late afternoon when Artoo buzzes him on the comlink, to let him know that Lando and Leia are here. Luke feels physically better, at least, for trying in whatever way to meditate, but his failure—again—to break past his own mental barriers weighs on him as heavily as Chirano’s natural gravity after the comfort of the chamber.

Han’s waiting for him at the entrance to the path to the landing pads, with Chewie and Artoo and Elcee. “How’d it go?” he asks, in a voice that says he can already sense the answer.

“Pretty good,” Luke lies. “How was lunch?”

“It was lunch with the kids.” Han shrugs, but his smile betrays his joy. “Hey, Elcee?”

The droid flickers her indicator lights. “Yes, Captain Solo?”

“Go on and fly ahead with Chewie and Artoo. Me and Luke here”—he hooks his arm through Luke’s—“We’ll be okay on our own.”

Han’s nervous. Luke can feel it in the muscles in his arm as clearly as through his presence in the Force. “Everything okay?” he asks, wondering if someone, maybe, spoiled the surprise. That feels like a thing he should be able to detect, but Han’s nothing but a blur beyond the nerves.

“Yeah, sure,” Han says. “It’s just… been awhile since I’ve seen her.”

For a second, Luke thinks he means Leia.

“Han.” Just saying it hurts, and Luke turns his name into an apology. And for the millionth time since he dared to tell Lando about his plan, Luke fears that he’s made the wrong decision. The  _ Falcon _ ’s either the only good place for this, or the worst. And a Jedi, he thinks, should have some idea which.

But Luke’s not a Jedi.

The  _ Falcon  _ looks, at least to Luke, the same as she ever has. Other than the new sensor dish and a couple of scores from close Imperial encounters, she’s the same ship Luke called a piece of junk, almost five years ago in Mos Eisley.

“What’s she look like, kid?” Han whispers. “She feels… like home.”

“Lando’s taken good care of her,” Luke says, opening himself up as much as he can, so Han knows it’s true. He’s not lying. “And she does feel like home.” It almost surprises him, how something can feel so joyous and so heartbreaking all at once. The Falcon’s painted, or stained, or joined at the soul with the ghosts of who Han and Luke were.

“Luke. Han.” Leia rushes down the landing ramp and wraps them in a three-way embrace. “It’s been so long. It’s been  _ too  _ long. You both look… really happy. Really good.”

Lando follows, and there are hugs and tears, while Elcee tries and fails to moderate a non-argument between Artoo and Threepio.

“Come on up,” Lando says. “Let me pour you both a drink. The tour of the school can wait till morning.”

Luke doesn’t drink. He never has, much, and he’s pretty much forbidden after Endor. But either Han doesn’t catch the slip or just chalks it up to Lando being Lando. “I don’t know,” he says, and looks up at the ship with too much grief and joy for one moment to simultaneously hold.

“It’s up to you,” Luke says, and he means it. The best laid plans don’t mean a thing if the person they’re meant for doesn’t want them. “I’d kind of like to pay her a visit.” He squeezes Han’s hand. “But... I understand if it’s too hard.”

Han nods as he takes in the shape of the  _ Falcon _ , however many details he can see. And he shakes his head. “It’d be crazy if I didn’t, right?” He links his fingers with Luke’s. “Whad’ya say, kid?” He asks, an old ribbing joke drenched in sadness. “Want to take the old girl for a spin?”

He sits in the pilot’s seat, and Chewie, who’s in on it, makes some excuse about making sure the galley’s in decent repair. That leaves Luke to take the co-pilot’s seat.

To raise the landing ramp.

To start the takeoff sequence, one switch at a time.

“What are you doing?” Han’s eyes are wide with panic.

It’s all Luke can do to keep his hands steady, his voice straight. “You said you wanted to take her for a spin.”

It shouldn’t thrill him as much as it does, to run the preflight sequence. To feel the sublight engines start to rumble through the ship. To put his own shaking hands on the throttle.

“Stop it.” Han’s knuckles are white on the armrests. But in the Force, his terror is mixed in equal parts with the careless, reckless hope that made Luke first love him all those years ago. “I can’t fly,” he protests. “And neither can you.”

“I can’t fly  _ alone _ ,” Luke corrects him, “which we’re not. Or in hyperspace, which I’m not planning to. Come on, Han. You could fly this ship in your sleep. Take her through lift-off. I’ll do the steering.”

“This is crazy, kid.” Han’s voice starts to shake, but his hands reach out for the toggles. “You’ll tell me if I flip the wrong one, right?” But he gets everything the first try.

And they’re lifting off, somehow, Luke and Han and the  _ Falcon _ , and it’s all the cybernetic parts in Luke’s chest can do to keep his heart from exploding with the memories—good and bad, but mostly just overwhelming—that swallow him up as the darkness of space fills their view.

Beside him, Han’s mouth is half-open, and his breaths come deep and sharp and deliberately hard. And when they finally reach orbit—too soon, after what feels like half a lifetime, he falls back into the pilot’s seat and closes his eyes. “Fucking hell, kid,” he gasps through ragged breaths. “I always knew you were crazy.”

“We did it, though, didn’t we?” Luke doesn’t need to say the rest.  _ We did it. One last time. _

“Where’s Lando?” Han asks. “Where’s Leia and Chewie?” And then understanding—not complete understanding, but understanding of a sort—dawns. “They were in on this.”

“I told you we were fine. Han,” Luke says. “I know this isn’t where we met, or where had our first kiss or… anything, really. But I wanted it to be here, because, to me at least, this always felt like our first home.”

“Stop,” Han says, and the feeling Luke gets from him is… panic, maybe. A kind of fear. “I know where this is going. Hey, Luke.” Luke’s hand twitches, for the first time in days, and he steels himself for rejection. But Han swivels the pilot’s chair around and fixes him with a brave, cocky smile. And the words that come from his mouth are the last thing Luke expects to hear.

"Marry me,” Han says. “Look, I obviously didn't plan this all out like you did. But come on, Luke. You got to say the L-word first. It’s my turn now. Make me... something, I don't know. I'm already the luckiest man alive. Make me the luckiest husband, too?”

Luke has to say something. He can't just keep sitting here, wide-eyed, while Han's put his whole heart on the line. "Yes?" he says, and then less like like a question. "Yes, Han. Of course. Of course I will."

He crosses the cockpit, so Han doesn't have to, and Han stands, so Luke doesn't have to kneel. And their lips meet, in front of a starscape neither of them's really seeing, while applause from the hallway, from the rest of their family, booms like fireworks in their ears.

"Sorry, kid," Han whispers. "I don't have a ring or anything."

Luke smiles against his lips. "It's not really a ring, but I do."

He reaches into his pocket and finally retrieves the crystals he's been trying not to think about all day. He places one of them in Han's palm, and closes his fingers around it.

"What is this?" Han asks.

"A kyber crystal. Half of one, anyway."

"This some kind of Tatooine engagement ritual?"

Luke laughs. "No. On Tatooine, it's usually more like a dowry. Two vaporators and a Treadwell droid?” He runs his fingers along the other crystal's lines--the smooth ones, cut by some long-ago Jedi, and the rough ones, where the crystal was destroyed. "These are the crystals they use for lightsabers. The crystals we use, I guess." It's still hard to think of himself as a Jedi--or to think that those legendary "they" are all dead.

"Okay," Han says. "So what am I supposed to do with it?"

"It's not really a tradition." Luke takes the chain he had Lando find someone, somewhere, to attach, and reaches up to loop it over Han's head. The crystal falls over his heart--over the middle of his ribcage anyway--and Han touches it with one hand, while still clutching the other crystal with the other. "But the halves of a broken crystal are supposed to talk to each other. To want each other, even when they can't be together. To make it easier, for the people who hold them to feel each other, wherever in the galaxy they are."

Han holds the other crystal silently up, and Luke bows his head to receive it. He's not really sure if he feels closer or not--but he also doesn’t know if it’s even possible to be closer than they already were.

"So, weddings," Han says. "I never really thought about it. Any new traditions you want to start there?"

"Maybe." Luke smiles, and it turns into a laugh. It's crazy, but so is everything else about this. "You know Lando's licensed to perform marriages, right?"

"You're kidding."

"He used to do it back on Cloud City. If you'd rather wait, plan something, make it a big event--"

"No." Han cuts him off, kisses him, and then smiles again. "Here and now sounds just fine."

* * *

 

They're gathered around the pond in the middle of campus--their students, the other teachers, Rogue Squadron, a handful of Alliance higher-ups.

"How'd you get all these people to come," Han asks, "when you didn't even know there'd be a wedding?"

Luke leans his head just far enough to the side that it rests for a moment on Han's shoulder. "I was pretty sure," he says. "Or maybe just stupidly optimistic. I didn't want to think you'd say no."

They haven't had time to practice or plan, so they walk down the aisle together. Never mind that the "aisle" is a paved nature path, or that the walk is about ten steps total. Lando reads the shortest version of the rites the old Empire considered legally binding--the marriage laws are one of the many things that haven't been revised yet--and Luke and Han kiss, while the world cheers them on, and the kyber crystals around their necks clink together.

Luke has a drink. He's not supposed to, but it's his own wedding and it’s just one.  And there are people around him, hugging him and congratulating him, and drinking too much themselves that they forget he's not so good on his feet anymore, and almost knock him over in their joy. Han stays by him, as much as he can, pretending he knows everyone's voices, and then, when the night feels like it must be nearly over, he says, "Hey, Luke? Who are those guys over there?"

He's squinting off into the darkness, to a little grove of evergreen trees.

"Those are just trees, Han. There's no one over there."

"Yes, there is," Han says, and his voice goes quiet. Somber. "Luke?" He takes Luke's hand. "I can see them."

Luke frowns. "Han, they're just trees, I promise.”

"No," Han insists. "I can  _ see _ them."

And for the first time, Luke really looks.

There is something there--a shape, carved out of the darkness. The feeling of being watched, not out of malice, but more... out of love, and protection.

"It's him," Han says. "It's old man Kenobi. And this... this other oldtimer, and this little guy with big ears."

Luke's shaking his head. "No. That's not possible." How can Han see them, when he can't?

But he believes they’re there, maybe, for the first time since Endor. And maybe it's the drink he had, or the crystal around his neck, or the high he still has from flying the  _ Falcon _ . Maybe it's just that it's the best night of his life, and if he's really married to Han now, then anything's possible.

Whatever the reason, he looks away, and looks back. And this time, Luke can see them, too.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I am immensely grateful for all the kudos, comments, hits, and other forms of support that have been shown my poor angsty boys.
> 
> ...this chapter was maybe more happy than angsty, though, and I suppose that's the point. I abuse these characters for the sake of showing that no matter what happens, happy endings can still be found in the end.
> 
> To reiterate: All characters and locations that do not appear in the movies are mine, and any similarity with non-movie canon or Legends is coincidence. The medical research that went into this fic was not QUITE non-existant but was minimal, and nothing here should be interpreted as factual either in canon or in the real world.
> 
> I can't SWEAR that I won't write more in this 'verse. I actually kind of like it. And I thought I might FINALLY be able to bring myself to write something a little more X-rated here... it didn't really work, plot-wise (WHAT PLOT?), but... let me know if you'd be interested in a sequel or other continuation?
> 
> Finally, let me say again that I appreciate ALL feedback, and would love to hear from you. Thank you so much again for supporting this fic and it's weird, angsty author. *sends love*


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